


hate sleeping alone

by drugdog



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Disabled Character, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 00:48:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7736617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drugdog/pseuds/drugdog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill and Joe can’t help but be dependent on each other, even at the worst of times. They’re supposed to have found wives and settled down, but they’re a couple lucky queers out of the whole batch of Easy. After the war, they only have each other to cling to, if only for fear of never finding a long term fix for their problems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hate sleeping alone

**Author's Note:**

> early bday present to myself because im gonna be legal in eight days
> 
> i wrote this at 1am while i made myself sad by listening to drakes take care album. this fic is best read if you listen to marvins room or hate sleeping alone (the latter of which is where the title comes from).

Bill’s eyes open to darkness. He’s on his stomach, head at an awkward angle that makes his neck ache. He arches his back to loosen up the muscles and flings an arm out to feel if Joe's beside him without a conscious thought.

The space where Joe's body should be is empty and cold. So much for going back to sleep. He flips onto his side and swings his legs over the bed, bracing his hand against his nightstand to push himself up. Bill rubs his bleary eyes, guiding along the wall with his other hand.

Joe never gets out of bed unless he needs to take a piss, and even then, the bed never gets cold because he’s gone for three minutes. They've been through enough shit that Bill doesn't trust Joe to be okay if he's waking up and wandering around in the middle of the night. 

He moves into the hallway, yawning and stretching his arms above his head. When he opens his eyes, he sees the kitchen light is on, sending pale light across the carpet. Bill jumps from one side of the hall to the doorway of the kitchen and leans against it. Joe's up against the sink, staring out of the window with a cigarette in his mouth. The window's open, but Joe isn't smoking.

Bill crosses the tile floor, grabbing onto cabinets and counters for support as he goes. Joe doesn't notice him, even when he wraps his arms around Joe from behind, pressing his forehead to Joe's bare back. "I was gonna tell you I told you that you ain't supposed to smoke in the house, but you fuckin' forgot to light it," he says, nosing his way to Joe's shoulder and pressing a kiss along the side of it. "Come back to bed, sugar."

"Don't tell me what to do," Joe says, and in the beat before he starts speaking again, Bill's about to say that he pays half the rent, he should make half the rules, but it's too late. "Had a nightmare. Again." His voice is softer, now. And so is the rest of his body, sagging back against him. Bill presses his lips to Joe's neck and Joe's free hand reaches over their heads to rest on Bill's back.

"What was it this time?" he asks, rubbing a thumb up and down Joe's stomach, over the lines of his abs. Joe sets the cigarette down on the counter and sighs so heavy it sounds like it took all the breath in his body.

He takes a moment to respond, and then, "Bastogne. Thought I was fighting a Kraut, I don't know. I don't know, Bill." Bill's heart sinks down in his chest. Sleeping next to Joe has stopped the worst of his nightmares, but Joe's have persisted in the months they've lived together. And it isn't fair.

"It's okay, Joe. It's done. Get back in bed. You know I can’t sleep alone." Bill breathes Joe in, faded cologne and hair gel. He smells himself, too, rubbed off on Joe from sharing pillows and kisses and those mornings where they eat breakfast together before work and don't talk because they don't have to. "I'm with you."

Joe moves his hand again and tangles their fingers together. "I can't sleep," he whispers. "I don't wanna be in the dark right now." His hand is cold. He must've been standing right in front of the open window, staring at nothing and too lost in his own head to light a cigarette, for a long time.

"I can make it easier," Bill says, trailing an open hand down to the hem of Joe's boxers. "You want me to?"

Joe lets out a begrudging laugh. "You're such a whore," he snaps, but he doesn't move Bill's hand away.

Bill nips Joe's neck as payback. "Might actually be hurt if I didn't already know you're one, too." He presses closer. Joe's heartbeat is picking up. Bill feels it over the pounding of his own heart, and he wonders if Joe feels his.

"Go ahead, Bill," Joe says, half-amused and half-dry. He knows as well as Bill does that this won't solve his problem forever. It's a temporary fix, a bandage over a wound that's already bleeding through. They'll ignore it until it festers too much for them to function. But this is the way they did it throughout the whole war, and they don't know anything else.

"Just..." Bill starts and trails off, letting go of Joe to move back and turn him around. He looks at Joe and sees dark eyes looking right back at him, empty. Bill steps forward again, resting his head against Joe's chest. He reaches down into Joe's boxers and wraps a hand around his dick. He's hot in Bill's hand, half-hard and getting further just from one touch.

He gives a careful stroke, holding himself up against the counter with his other hand. Joe shudders against him. Bill kisses up Joe's chest until he reaches his collarbone, digging his teeth in. It's light enough to keep from hurting Joe, hard enough to coax a soft sound out of him. Joe wraps an arm around him, cool and solid on his shoulders. Another stroke and Joe's pushing his hips up into Bill's hand.

Bill tilts his head up and kisses Joe, letting his eyes fall shut. Joe's mouth opens under him, tongue swiping at Bill's to bait him. He takes the bait, slicks his over Joe's, pressing his thumb just so under the head of Joe's dick. Joe groans into his mouth, grabbing the hand Bill has on the counter and locking their fingers together. Bill breaks it off, licking Joe’s lower lip where it shines and moving lower to the column of his throat. 

"Stop teasing," Joe says, a rough edge to his voice. Bill grips Joe harder, twisting on the upstroke, setting a careful rhythm. "Come on, I'm the one who broke my wrist." He leans down and rests his head on Bill's shoulder, breathing steady onto his neck.

He breaks his rhythm to move his hand faster, following the pace Joe’s setting with short thrusts of his hips. "Wish you were fucking me right now," he says, and it's true. Bill's aching for contact. "You fuckin' lose it, Joe, and you make me feel like I'm losing my mind, too." He's trying to fill the spaces that are for laughter and heatless jabs at each other on nights they're not using fucking to cope. "And I want you closer, you're never close enough, even when you're... Fuck. When you're in me and you're looking at me like-"

Joe's arm moves down to the back of Bill's thighs. Bill lets go of him in surprise, hooking an arm around his neck. Joe hefts him up and reverses their positions, setting him down on the counter. "Shut up, Bill," he says. He tugs Bill's dick out through his fly, licks his hand, and curls it around the both of them. Bill reaches down and adds his own hand. “Shut up.”

Joe squeezes and moves up, the space inside slick and tight and hot. He thrusts in, giving Bill the sweet friction he wanted. Bill tilts his head back, tilts his hips up, mouth opening and then shutting with teeth digging into his lower lip. "Gotta do everything myself," Joe gripes, but his voice has gone lower, rougher.

Bill wraps his leg around Joe's waist and digs in with his knee on the other side. He jerks up into their hands, moving forward again to make a mess of Joe's neck. Sucking at the side of Joe's neck, Bill knows he's the only one Joe will break for. He's the only one Joe will give in to. There was no one else during the war, no one else that mattered. No one that Joe’s fucking and sleeping in the same bed as. They have each other for a reason.

Joe picks up the pace, rocking up faster. His breaths have gone ragged. It's so good, sending shocks of electricity up Bill's spine and through his whole body. He's getting closer with every stroke, thrusting up, erratic, against Joe. Joe nudges Bill away from his neck, only to sink his teeth in just under his jaw. He laves his tongue over the spot to make up for the sting. "Don't you forget this, Bill. Fuck anyone else and think about me getting you off in two minutes." 

They're both close. Bill's brain is short-circuiting and Joe's possessive, staking his claim. "I won't," he says, and then it's like a dam opens and he can't shut the fuck up. "Joe, I'm not, fuck, I'm yours, I'm yours." The words blur into one never-ending stream and Joe only has to squeeze so hard it's almost too much for him to come, raking his nails down his back. Joe bites him again when he comes, only seconds later, teeth in so deep Bill has to stifle a cry.

He rolls his hips, senseless, until overstimulation leaves him panting and aching. Joe lets him go and Bill winces, rubbing his neck. It's tender, bruising already. 

Bill reaches across the counter for a dish towel and wipes away the mess on their chests and stomachs. They get so protective over each other when they're fucking, all their hidden insecurities leaking out. Some type of way to air out their laundry, but it works. As a short-term fix, anyway.

"Feel any better?" Bill asks, tossing the towel in the sink and shifting his eyes to Joe. He cards his fingers through Joe's curls, hand coming to rest on the back of his head.

"Yeah," Joe says, leaning in to kiss him. Bill melts under him, thumb stroking the shaved hair at the nape of Joe's neck. It feels good, feels right. He pulls away and Bill jumps down from the counter, reaching for Joe's hand.

"Please tell me I don't have to fuck you again to get you to come back to bed," Bill pleads. Joe rolls his eyes and takes his hand, gripping along the wall with Bill until they make it to the hall. He clicks off the kitchen light behind them. 

Halfway down, Joe yanks his hand so Bill loses his balance and falls back into Joe’s arms. He pins him against the wall, breathing close on Bill’s neck. “Did you mean it,” he starts, hands wandering from Bill’s chest to his hips and back up again. “Did you really mean you’re mine, or did you just want me to keep fucking you?” In the dark, Bill feels Joe’s eyes on him. 

“Ain’t no one else is gonna take me, ‘cause no one else can stand me,” Bill says, reaching down to hold Joe’s hand. “And I don’t got to tell you I’m yours for you to fuck me, y’know.” He’s got half of a smile on his face. When he presses their mouths together, Joe’s smiling, too.

Joe pushes his hips onto Bill’s, earning a soft noise from the back of his throat. He darts his tongue into Joe’s mouth, sliding it on Joe’s until he shoves back, his grip on Bill’s ribs getting tighter. Bill sucks Joe’s lip into his mouth and nips it, groaning in a mix of pain delight when Joe bucks his hips forward. His free hand slides down to Joe’s ass, groping and pulling Joe onto him. He’s overstimulated and tired already, but Joe’s a drug, making his whole body light and warm.

By some force of nature, he breaks the kiss. “Come on, Joe, we got work in the morning, you gotta stop,” he says. “And this shit hurts. Don’know how you can go again when it’s been five fucking minutes.” 

“It’s ‘cause I coulda been a pro athlete,” Joe mumbles, leaning down to mark the ball of Bill’s shoulder, as if the mention of work made him remember that they shouldn’t be leaving hickeys where everyone can see. “I got stamina.”

Bill huffs out a laugh. “Well, you can show me your stamina. After work. All night, far as I’m concerned, ‘cause it’s Friday.” He squeezes out of Joe’s grip and leads him down the hall and into their room, letting go of his hand to slump against the wall and feel his way to his side of the bed.

He flops in on his back, tugs the blankets over himself, and feels the other side dip from Joe's weight after a moment. Bill turns onto his side and worms his way over to Joe's, wrapping a leg and an arm around him. He tucks his chin in where Joe's shoulder meets his neck.

Joe shifts to curl an arm around his shoulders, tugging him in close. He shuts his eyes and sighs, waiting until Joe's breaths even out with sleep to drift off.

**Author's Note:**

> find me @narcoticsdog on tumblr. unless you came from tumblr in which case dont


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